


Just Principles

by Flannigan



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Drowning, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluffy Ending, Implied Past Abuse, Love and Hate in equal measure, M/M, Physical Abuse, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flannigan/pseuds/Flannigan
Summary: Casimiro and Finas are washed ashore, exhausted and starved. They have an argument.





	

Casimiro dropped down on all fours, his body aching and screaming for rest. His bare-scraped hands dug into the grimy sand of the shallows, clenching into fists as he looked towards the shore. Behind him Finas walked closer, disturbing the muddy, chilling water. It splashed into his face when he fell down on his knees next to him.

"Hah ah, Fin..." Casimiro huffed out, chest heaving from drawing in air he didn't need but desperately desired. "It looks like we made it."

"Yes," Finas said with a long sigh, "Appears so."

Casimiro looked over at him, frowned, then cracked a grin. He reached out and grabbed a shoulder that used to have more muscle, squeezing tightly.

"Hey, smile or something. We made it. Got away."

Finas didn't smile, grunted something and shrugged off his hand, and looked inland with tired eyes.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked. Casimiro flipped onto his back, supported himself on his elbows and turned up his face to feel the wind.

"Does it matter?" he sighed, then snapped open his eyes, not sure when he'd closed them. "Listen- Music! There's a town close by. If we're lucky there's a party or festival or something. Someone to drink. Ahh, yes," he devolved into chuckles. All the things he'd missed and longed for.

Beside him Finas shifted, stirred, brow furrowed. Casimiro watched him raise his hand, dirty and soaked clothes clinging to his body, and fall to rest on his narrow shoulder. He grinned up at him, put his hand over his.

"Not five minutes we are free, and you already talk of killing?" Finas said sharply, taking hold of his other shoulder. He shook him as his voice rose. "Are you man or beast with such bloodthirst?"

"Not five minutes we are free, and you already start nagging?" He struck the water so a splash came up in Finas' face. "And spare me the 'we're better than that' lecture. You're just as starved as I am, and if some poor human has to die, so be it."

"Stop talking." Finas closed his eyes hard.

"You act all high and mighty, above murdering, but we're just the same," he spat out and put his hand on Finas' stomach. "You feel that hunger? That _bloodthirst?_ "

One of Finas' hands shifted over his chest, it felt like a battering ram struck him, the beautiful air he had torn out of his lungs, and then the waves engulfed over his head again. A hand firmly around his throat and square on his chest pressed him down against the bottom.

He tried to sit up. To get above the surface, to breathe. He kicked, arched his back and reached out his arm and tried to strike him, throw him off. Finas didn't ease on the pressure, if he clawed him in the face he didn't claw hard enough or deep enough.

His lungs burned with want for air after finally tasting it. Drowning was a nasty experience he'd had enough of to last several lifetimes, but he knew for certain it wouldn't kill him. Still, he couldn't fight off the panic growing on the edge of his instincts. He kicked harder, dug his heels into the sand for leverage.

No one got anything from him the easy way. If Finas wanted to watch him drown, he'd have to fight him every step of the way.

Then Finas bowed forward, joined him under the surface. He could see his face now. The same numb expression he'd fashioned for weeks, finally cracking, finally giving way to some damn emotion, and fury was it. He pressed his lips against his snarling mouth, teeth clacking together.

Like this, Finas sat back up and lifed him above the surface. The kiss broke apart before Casimiro got a chance to bite him, and he was tossed to the side. He coughed and massaged his throat.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" he said between gasps, getting back on his hands and knees.

"It shut you up well enough."

"My turn," Casimiro growled under his breath, leaping forward onto the other man.

He didn't fall over, catching himself with one arm. Casimiro put his hands on both sides of his head, forced their mouths together again. His fangs sank into his lower lip and drew blood. Finas groaned out some kind of warning, but Casimiro silenced his complaints with a finger going between his teeth and pressing down his tongue. He pushed forward until they toppled over.

He straightened up, leaving him at the bottom with one palm where his collarbones met, his other hand inside his mouth. He sat over his torso with all his weight, pressing down with all his might.

He breathed air, fresh, free wonderful air, listening to the music on the wind. He longed to get closer. He grinned at the thought of warm bodies, full with pumping warm blood.

Beneath him Finas struggled, water splashing and sharp scratches on his arms he was determined to ignore. He wouldn't let him close his mouth, water and sand and mud rushing into him. Casimiro waited. Looked up at the sky. Counted stars. He waited until his movements were naught but gentle jerks, trembling hands pushed by the waves. He retracted his grip and got off of him. He inspected his broken finger and the bleeding teeth marks while he waited for his companion to sit up. 

Finas didn't.

He pushed away the mess of hair clouding over his pale face. He looked like the corpse he technically was. Eyes closed, emotionless expression. Sort of at peace, in a surreal way. How he, how they both were supposed to be, decades ago. He didn't like it. He fit his arms around his waist and hauled his ass onto dry land.

He helped him get through the process of emptying his lungs, rubbed his back as he threw up the dirty water from his stomach, together with what little blood he had been allowed to consume the last months. Pretended to not notice his cheeks were wetter than they should be. There were a hundred issues on Finas' mind, he could tell by his frown, the promise of another nagging. But not right now.

Slowly his eyes closed, his head dropped forward and he started to sway. Casimiro caught him before he fell over, gathered him in his arms and held him to his chest. A heavy, tired stillness came over them once they settled. He wished they were in a warm room, in a soft bed and safe to sleep. He mumbled, urging him to be awake just a little longer. He dug his bleeding fingers into his wet hair, just a little too softly, held him a little too tightly.

Finas knew his principles. If he was pushed, expect to be pushed harder in return. Even he was no exception. He wasn't sorry- Finas had started it. It was a childish argument, but it was also the truth. He adjusted his hold, arranged him more comfortably and ran his hand down his arm. Finas didn't push him away, but then again, he didn't cling to him in return. Casimiro swallowed. 

"Are you done?" he asked. ... No answer. "...They'll have noticed our disappearing act by now. We need to move," he continued, voice breaking into a low hush. "... And we need to drink." He felt the other's ribcage expand in his arms, heard his wheezing exhale.

"Yes."

He stood up, offering support until it was rejected, and together went in search for blood and music.

**Author's Note:**

> it-s-blue-ink.tumblr.com


End file.
